men.

The present proprietors of the Burge plantation are two ladies,
granddaughters of Mrs. Thomas Burge, who lived here, a widow, with a
little daughter, when General Sherman and his hosts came by. These
ladies frequently spend months at the plantation without male protectors
save only the good negroes of their own place, who look after them with
the most affectionate devotion. True, the ladies keep an ugly looking
but mild mannered bulldog, of which the negroes are generally afraid;
true also they carry a revolver when they drive about the country in
their motor, and keep revolvers handy in their rooms; but these
precautions are not taken, they told me, because of any doubts about the
men on their place, their one fear being of tramp negroes, passing by.

Of their own negroes several are remarkable, particularly one old
couple, perfect examples of the fine ante-bellum type so much beloved in
the South, and so much regretted as it disappears.

During the period of twenty years or more, while the owners were absent,
growing up and receiving their education, the whole place, indoors and
out, was in charge of Uncle George and Aunt Sidney. The two lived, and
still do live, in one wing of the house--over which Aunt Sidney presides
as housekeeper and cook, as her mother, Aunt Liddy, did before her. Aunt
Liddy died only a short time ago, aged several years over a hundred.
Uncle George supervises all the business of the plantation, as he has
done for thirty or forty years. He collects all rents, markets the crops
and receives the payments, makes purchases, pays bills, and keeps peace
between the tenants--nor could any human being be more honorable or
possess a finer, sweeter dignity. As for devotion, when the little girls
who were away returned after all the years as grown women, every ribbon,
every pin in that house was where it had been left, and the place was no
less neat than if the "white folks" had constantly remained there.

Before Georgia went dry it was customary for negroes of the rougher sort
to get drunk in town every Saturday night. Drunken negroes would
consequently be passing by, all night, on their way to their homes,
yelling and (after the manner of their kind when intoxicated) shooting
their revolvers in the air. Every Saturday night, when the ladies were
at home, Uncle George would quietly take his gun and place himself on
the porch, remaining there until the last of the obstreperous wayfarers
had passed